That's What I'm Not
by Plasticframed Paintings
Summary: This underground world that we inhabit has always worked under a different set of rules, hasn't it? No form of government can change that. Collab album fic.
1. Choo Choo

Part two of the collaboration between Plasticframed Paintings and Canadino, Whatever People Say I Am and That's What I'm Not. This story will follow the bar Easy and the rebel group that runs it, consisting of Francis(France), Alfred(USA) and Arthur(UK), with some Ivan(Russia), Yao(China) and Karl(Iceland) on the side.

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**2012**

Caused by global warming, pollution, and general neglect, the planet Earth experiences numerous disastrous earthquakes and other natural disasters. The last big earthquake sent a fissure across the Americas, splitting both continents into half down the middle. Asia also experienced a split, breaking diagonally across Russia into Europe. There was mass confusion, terror, death, and after the natural disasters stopped, a massive world war broke out over law and order.

Order was established by a small group of mercenaries who referred to themselves as the 'Solidities', whom as their name implied, created a strict sense of peace to counter the chaos that had claimed the world for the past years. They spread their influence through the battered nations, claiming supporters and resisters, who were instantly crushed. In just a short year, the Solidities stabilized each continent under its power and brought harmony back to a war-ravaged battlefield.

**2014**

The first of the Solidarity Laws are created. They ban the use of traditional firearms, nuclear power, and fossil fuels. While these laws are met with opposition, the general consensus approves of these changes and encourages more in the same fashion.

**2016**

The perfection of biological warfare, renamed as part of Universal Security, proves the end of modern weaponry. Firearms are allowed as long as there are no bullets or gunpowder; all such items are rounded up and destroyed. Viruses and physiological punishment are used on criminals or resisters. Opposition to Solidities rule is easily and quickly silenced and such activity rarely hits public eye.

Support and funding provides massive technological breakthrough. Universal healthcare and aid ends world hunger and poverty.

**2020**

The Restrictor Laws are created. They forbid gambling, alcohol, prostitution, private wealth, and habitat destruction in any way, including hunting and mining. Meat is raised in tubes. Precious metals are synthetically created. Inherences are seized by the government and previously privately owned land is also seized and used for public property. Art and literature is used solely for positive, chaste lessons.

The biggest book burning in history occurs, where several banned books and every single one of their digital and physical copies are rounded up and deleted. Several titles include The Communist Manifesto, A Clockwork Orange, and Lolita. All perverse and inflammatory titles are added on the banned list and destroyed.

The population is urged to be respectable. While religion, sexuality, gender, and ethnicity are not called into question, any known deviant is collected and never seen again.

**2022**

Religion is now regulated by the government, who sifts through the existent religions and eradicates any deemed 'unproductive'. The remaining are closely followed by pre-established laws and overseen by the Solidities to see no deviation is created.

**2023**

In the midst of mandatory schooling, an abundance of jobs, and paid taxes, the Solidities experience a ripple in their perfect society when a group who call themselves Liberators attempt a coup on several nations where their number has taken hold. After several failed communications, bribes, and compromises, the two groups reach a tense stalemate.

**2025**

When a Liberator assassinates a prominent Solidite, war erupts and seizes the world once again. The world is extended along a tender string of war until several years later, when rough tsunamis off the coast of India and another tremor rock the Americas and the Solidities seize control again in this panic. The Liberators are privately taken care of, while the public perceives the situation as the Solidities finally making the rogue Liberators see the light.

**2033**

Peace prevails and the Restrictor Laws are revised and enforced.

**2037**

The Solidities create its first law-enforcement program, entitled STOP, short for Service To Oversee Peace, publicly believed to keep the peace. However, it is an unspoken fact that they are being used to find and persecute underground activity.

**2043**

Regulus Diktat is sworn into office as World Chancellor after statistically voted in with 98% approval. He promises seven years of peace in his term.

**2046**

STOP successfully carries out a raid that jails a couple hundred citizens caught in an underground speakeasy. Conspiracy theories abound, but often debunked. Government public approval rating rises. Diktat is praised for his role in the sting.

**2050**

Diktat runs for re-election and starts his second term in office. He promises peace for another seven years.

**2050**

The underground bar Easy is established by Alfred, a long time political activist who had known several of the core members of the Liberators. Along with the equally well-known underground peace protestor Arthur, he starts up a second generation rebel group to carry the torch of the Liberators and succeed where they had failed.

**2050**

Easy has become a hot-spot for the remaining intellectuals and political activists that haven't gone missing. Having followed Arthur, Francis joins in with bar maintenance and acts as a major pillar of strength and support for the growing rebel group, also acting as a very efficient spokesperson to rally more support.

Despite his initial aversion to the underground world, Karl finds himself drawn into the inner-circle of this group through Francis.

**2050**

Two foreign mercenaries, Ivan and Yao, begin to frequent the bar roughly within a month of each other. Though neither claim to have any affiliations with Diktat and the Solidites, they have no prominent connection with the Liberators either.

A shaky alliance is established between the six after several other underground bars are snuffed out by the government without warning. 

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A/N: Thank you for bearing with us through the repetitive double-openings, but we believe it will be beneficial to the readers in the long run. The real story will start very soon so please look forward to it!


	2. The View From the Afternoon

2- The View from the Afternoon

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_Clink._

Ivan stared down at the chipped mug that had been full just seconds ago, passing the back of his hand over his mouth, which had curled up into a satisfied smile. Nothing could end a long day better than a proper dose of good old-fashioned Zyr.

"Drinking too fast is bad for your metabolism."

His gaze shifted to the side, resting momentarily on his official drinking partner, who had barely made a dent in his own despite the hour that had passed since they had shuffled from the windy night and into the warmth of their run-down tavern. It was a girly little fruity …_thing_ in a slim-stemmed glass, fitting perfectly with his mental image of Yao. The back of his hand passed over his mouth again, this time to stifle a snicker.

"Comrade is forgetting we in Russia are built for fast drinking." Without hesitation, he tapped his mug against the wet-wood counter to summon the bartender, much to the chagrin of the slim Chinese man. His much taller companion could have sworn he heard something that sounded distinctly like 'will never understand Westerners', but shrugged it off with the grin of someone with a good night ahead of them.

Tonight _was_ a special night, after all. There was no time for trivial things when one was supposed to be celebrating!

Unless, of course, that 'trivial thing' happened to be a certain bartender _not _doing his job – that was grounds for berserker mode, and reasonably so (in Ivan's ever so humble opinion). Mug met counter with a bit more force a few seconds after the first time, along with the palm of Ivan's free hand. Though his eerily passive smile was still firmly in place, a few of the other patrons had begun to inch their own stools away just a tiny bit, some even choosing to duck through the dented wood doorframe before things had a chance to escalate.

Though he hardly ever caused a scene unlike some of the more raucous individuals, nobody ever stood between Ivan Braginski and his nightly fix – even the most dimwitted of the customers that Easy received were well aware of that. And it seemed that the only person who didn't care was the manager himself.

Who doubled as the bartender.

Who was currently having a very intense conversation with the only _other _bartender that Easy had.

Who didn't like Ivan much to begin with and, as such, was doing his very best to keep the first bartender preoccupied with whatever they were talking about, going so far as to start herding him into the small joint staffroom.

Which in the end made for one antsy Russian sitting just out of reach of the colorful collection of bottles, with no one to bring any to him.

It could not end well for anybody.

"Is rude to leave Ivan waiting, Alfred!"

Yao sighed, stirring his strawberry daiquiri absentmindedly and praying to whatever gods were listening that the bespectacled manager of their haven would actually pay Ivan mind today. The last time something like this had occurred… His gaze strayed towards one of the windows at the front of the store, which had been patched shoddily with layers of plastic tarp and duct tape, bits of the mouldy wooden frame sticking out at odd and possibly dangerous angles. It was a miracle none of the STOP goons had heard about _that _one.

Peering over the shoulder of his shorter companion, said manager made something of a face and waved his hand dismissively. "Business going on here, hang on for a minute would you?" Ivan was one of the regulars, yes – a member of the inner circle, even – but it didn't mean for a second that Alfred bent to his incessant whining. Especially not tonight, when there were more important things to do.

Turning around, he allowed the shorter man – whose gold nametag read Arthur in thick block letters – to usher him into the attached room, not bothering to shut the door behind them. Anyone who frequented Easy enough already knew what they really were, even if they weren't directly a part of it.

Arthur perched himself on the back of their only office chair, his posture tense and eyes excited. That in itself could have been a good or bad sign, and the taller blonde cast him a somewhat skeptical look before waving his hand. They had been dancing around the topic for too long already and he didn't want any more bar stools being flung through his windows. "Do you actually have anything to say, or was the plan a bust after all?" His skepticism was met with an indignant glare. "You're lucky I even did this job for you, you git. Now this is truly reason to celebrate, so listen carefully."

"The bar that Matthew owned down the road was shut down just two nights ago, as I'm sure you're well aware." Alfred gave a nod. There wasn't anyone who didn't know about that by now; it had been a major hit for the underground business and had shaken the confidence of several of the newer bar owners. STOP had never been a force to take lightly, and with the rate the militant group churned out new and more terrifying biological warfare weapons, theirs was not a business for the timid.

"Well listen to this." The man leaned forward and cupped his hand to his mouth, which caused Alfred to roll his eyes at his partners' childish antics (despite the fact that he always played along anyway and had leant in to listen). "Remember the time that we covered for them back in the strain of busts a few months back? Matthew came through with the return favour."

At this, Alfred's eyes lit up and he had to restrain himself from punching the air in victory, seeing as Arthur's face was in the way. "Seriously!? Great! So the red herring worked?"

A nod of confirmation was given and, looking quite smug, Arthur tapped the leather messenger bag he almost always toted around. "Perfectly. The bloody loons fell for it without question and are on a wild goose chase as we speak. Matt really pulled through for us this time, I don't think we'll have so much as a curious cop in the area for days."

The Brit hopped off of his chair, finally giving Alfred ample room to do a mini victory punch session. "He really did pull through! Man, we've got to find a way to thank him." As he spoke, he was reaching towards the bag, which Arthur yanked back with a tut.

"These are very sensitive documents and I went through a lot of trouble to get them. I won't have you ruining them with dirty bar hands."

Before his rebuke could be answered, a crash resonated through the dim tavern, causing both of the blondes to freeze momentarily. Alfred was the first to move, cautiously peering around the door, half expecting to see that Ivan had finally catapulted himself over the counter and broken something in the process. Instead he saw an equally disgruntled Ivan staring towards the front door, which had been thrown open with such force that several of the old flyers tacked to the wall next to it had come down in a paper shower.

"Mon _dieu_!"

"Bloody hell."

At roughly the same time Arthur slapped his palm over his face, the door was closed again (with the normal force this time), and the figure stepped across familiar creaky floorboards to slide onto the empty stool next to Yao. Without a second thought he reached for the long-haired man's drink who, used to these antics, let it go without protest. Temporarily forgetting about his empty mug, Ivan rested his elbow against the counter, casting the newest arrival a lopsided grin. "Is also rude to come late to important meeting."

His reprimands were simply waved off as the man downed nearly half of the frozen beverage in a few seconds time, leaning back on his stool and sliding it back to its original owner afterwards. "You can't blame me, fate interfered on my way here."

"You were off molesting school girls again, weren't you." All eyes rose to the new participant in the conversation; Arthur simply crossed his arms over his chest, giving the newcomer a once-over. "Same as always, Bonnefoy."

Snickering at the comment, Francis flipped his hair over his shoulder and tipped his chair back to balance on two metal legs before allowing it to fall back to the ground. "You break my heart, accusing me of such foul things! It wasn't a girl." Turning away from the gape-mouthed Brit, he waved over towards the manager, who was still leaning against the door as if surveying the insanity from a distance might save himself from it. "Alfred, Alfred! How did it go?"

This seemed to pique the interest of everyone within hearing distance, but the patrons of Easy followed a strict set of their own moral codes. Wordlessly, the five or so people still lingering in the tavern began to pack their things away, tossing used bottles in the rubbish bin and leaving empty mugs on the counter for Alfred to grab later. The five watched passively from their cluster at the front of the bar, and once the last had left, Alfred moseyed past the counter to bar the door shut. Five locks and a thick chunk of wood kept the inside door reinforced, though it was difficult to find to begin with. In order to get to Easy, one had to be given directions from someone who had already been there – past the set of abandoned apartment complexes, down the electrical management shaft, through the parking garage and down the fenced-off alleyway.

Alfred had picked the location and Francis had approved it as the main meeting point. Being the most street-savvy of them all in certain aspects, they trusted his judgment there, and it hadn't failed them yet.

Clapping his hands together, the manager turned back to his four ragtag teammates of, all of whom were staring at him intently (save Yao, who seemed more interested in finishing his drink before Francis could strike again). "Alright then! You know the deal."

On cue, Arthur slapped his messenger bag on the table and unfastened the buckle. Instead of reaching in to take the papers out, he simply pulled the bag away and allowed it to unroll on its own. Three sets of attentive eyes stared it over, and though Ivan and Yao remained on the periphery of the excitement, soon enough five grins were being shared.

This was the first step to relighting the old torch, the first step to turning some heads and grabbing some attention.

This could be the key to a major turning point.

The innocent-looking paper remained laid out on the counter as a fresh round of vodka and spirits and the leftover food from the back were brought out by Alfred, careful not to let any grease spatter the bold print on the front of the document.

'Blueprint for new local STOP weapons bunker, construction to begin immediately.'

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Sorry for the wait and somewhat short chapter, and thank you for bearing with me through it. R&R if you will!


	3. I Bet That You'd Look Good

3- I Bet That You'd Look Good on the Dance Floor

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With the last of the beverages downed and the grease cleared away, the celebratory party had officially ended. The mood clung like a pleasant haze, however, and the haphazard team emerged from their covered tavern and into the crisp spring night in jovial spirits, patting one another on the back and giving one-armed hugs and high-fives on occasion. "This is a little rowdy for two in the morning, non?" Despite his saying so, Francis pulled a small flask from his hip all the same and downed a small sip of his precious wine. "Mon dieu, to have something so small tide me over until tomorrow. It is simply unfair!" "Little comrade should try living with even less, da? _Then _can call waiting unfair."

"Be quiet the both of you, or you'll wake up half the town." Even Arthur's reprimands had lost their edge, sounding half-hearted enough that Francis simply laughed it off, draining another sip worth of liquid in one fluid motion.

With a full stomach and a mind full of ideas still buzzing fresh in his mind, Alfred was feeling particularly generous. He glanced over his shoulder, carefree smile displayed. "You guys want to crash at my place tonight? It's kind of dangerous being out this late." Dangerous in general, but dangerous for people like them in particular. The patrol units out at that hour were composed of the strictest soldiers one might be unfortunate enough to deal with. Despite that, however, his question was answered almost immediately by a series of headshakes and mutters of 'no'. "Ivan is needing to get back to hotel, da? Would be suspicious if missing too late into the night." His shorter accomplice gave a curt nod of agreement, while Francis gave their unofficial leader a hearty slap on the shoulder. "Maybe some other time, mon frère! There are too many things for me to do tonight, I'm afraid. Too many, too many. Ah, such a busy man I am!"

Slapping the offending hand away, Alfred waved his own free hand in a dismissive gesture. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't get yourself arrested on molestation charges, okay?" As much as he hated to admit it, Francis was great for public relations, so to say. Losing him would be a pretty hard hit for them all.

"Of course I won't! My prowess is far too great for me to be caught by something as plebian as the law." The man smiled and rubbed at the stubble on his chin, nodding if that was supposed to be the most reassuring thing in the world. Before Alfred had a chance to point out that it would be better if there was no molestation involved in general, the flamboyant man spun around and pointed with his flask-free hand towards a slim but fairly clear alleyway to their left.

"This is our stop," Francis stated, stepping into the mouth of the gap without hesitation. Growing up on the streets did tend to lend itself to one being comfortable with entering dimly lit places, and a good thing that was for him. There was no way to get back to the main street without drawing too much attention, and so the three always came and left their shared hotel by back roads and underground paths. Yao threaded his hands through his hair, pulling it back into a less-messy approximation of his usual ponytail which Ivan then slid a previously pocketed elastic around before turning to fix his scarf. "You know when to meet next, mm?"

"'Course! You all just watch yourselves, okay? You know how strict patrol's gotten lately." With his smile as confident as ever, Alfred gave a small salute towards the trio, watching until the three had become nothing more than indistinguishable retreating shapes.

"You're too trusting, you know." Lowering his hand, the bespectacled blonde turned to face his remaining companion, who looked even more terse than usual. "What?"

In a poor attempt to mask his growing irritation, the elder of the two turned to stride back down the alleyway they had just passed. "That…that thing you just did! I mean, I don't know about _you _but I for one would most definitely not appreciate _those people_ anywhere near your house." There was a small pause for thought, and then; " …Except Yao, he's fine." Alfred caught up easily, keeping pace with his companion's brisk strides with little effort (which only served to aggravate the other blonde further, though he did fairly well with hiding that portion of it at the very least).

"_I_ would have to be the one to deal with vodka stains on the cushions if I invite Ivan over, not you. It's my house after all, not yours." Though he had intended it to be a joke and spoke it in as light-hearted a manner as he could muster, it seemed to have the reverse of the desired effect on Arthur, who turned to stare at him with such an unreadable expression that Alfred automatically stopped walking as well. A few moments of awkward silence passed, Arthur continuing to stare and Alfred opening and closing his mouth like a floundering fish in an attempt to word what he was thinking. How _could _he word it properly when they had been having this exact problem for so long, when the barest forms of communication had always been something of an issue for them? Eventually he just sighed, scuffing the toe of his loafer against the cool pavement. "…I thought you were over that already."

At this, Arthur seemed to snap out of whatever strange state of mind he had been in, his posture growing even more rigid. "Right. Right, I am. I am completely over it. It…it's not like it would have ever worked out anyway." Whatever afterglow the celebratory mood had left behind almost completely vanished after that, and Arthur was quick to continue walking in order to escape the oppressing blanket that the atmosphere had become, Alfred trailing along behind him silently. They both knew that was a lie, as loathe as either was to admit it.

They were young, and while young people did stupid things, young rebels did even stupider things. It had just been a fling at first; a late night alcohol-induced hook up between best friends who thought it would be fun, interesting, who knows. It took them both by surprise, but that innocent fling adopted a life of its own, and continued to mature and grow far beyond what either of them had originally expected. Suddenly they were more than best friends, even if their communication skills and maturity were at the same level as they had always been, and suddenly Arthur expected different things from him – things and commitments that he couldn't and wasn't ready to give. It was an upsetting time; they had both been hard-headed, they both had their ideals and their goals, and Alfred was not willing to sacrifice his chance at reforming society for a relationship. And Arthur? Arthur had set his hopes and expectations so high that it hurt, it really hurt, when they came crashing down. '_I need my freedom'_. They had both learned ugly, unfortunate lessons about themselves and each other that night, the last night that he shared his house with the short-statured activist. Alfred counted his blessings every day that they had managed to continue their friendship and partnership afterward, awkward moments aside.

"-lfred. Alfred?" Blinking from his momentary trip down the hideous, unkempt side of memory lane, he glanced up and over to the man that had driven him down there in the first place, who was staring at him in a cross between annoyance and concern. "Stop spacing out, you ninny. You're going to run into a pole." A cursory glance told him that they had already reached the underground parking structure.

He used that term loosely, of course. It was really nothing more than an abandoned underground garage. The thick beams of metal stretching from cement ceiling to roof were the only things in the entire space that seemed completely untouched. Everything else from the walls to the abandoned auto parts were riddled with cracks, dust and the occasional bullet hole that spoke of days when people would fight with guns and not concentrated forms of bacteria. Alfred ran his fingers over one that had pierced a part stand, uncaring of the collected rust and somewhat sharp edges. He almost pined for those days – in comparison, fighting with guns had been clean and honorable.

"--OUCH. Bloody electric cars and the damn plugs and _they never worked to begin with _why would anybody put in _more _--"

Pulling his fingers back, Alfred glanced over with an amused snort and watched as Arthur tried (and failed miserably) to get his borrowed run down second-hand electric car unhooked from the charging post. The kicking probably didn't help any either, and by the time he finally sat down in defeat, the post was looking more than a little lopsided and his charging cable…

Well, his charging cable had lived a long life at the very least.

"Of all the times for this to happen," he muttered, running a gloved hand through his choppy hair in frustration. Of _course _his car would be so uncooperative during the peak patrolling hours. He turned to scowl towards the younger bartender who was quick to join him, not even bothering to hide his laughter at that point.

"And _how _many times have I told you that you need a new plug? I said it was going to break on you any day, didn't I? But nooo, you just had to be stubborn and find out for yourself."

"Oh, sod off! This isn't something to be joking about." He reached out to give his companion a half-playful shove, but decided at the last minute to channel it into another punch directed at the charging post. "You know what happens when people get stuck in abandoned garages in the middle of the night? They die, that's what! The serial killer comes after them!"

Biting back another snort of laughter, he patted Arthur on the shoulder. "Hey, you don't have to worry about that. They only go after the funny guys or the beautiful virgins."

"I will have you know that I'm both hilarious _and _good-looking, thank you very--"

A soft sound cut the end of his sentence off, and immediately the two were as alert as quickly as they could be. Alfred was standing in an instant and Arthur, who was able to see almost inhumanly well in the dark, was looking around for the source of the noise. "…It sounded like a can falling over, didn't it?" Though he wasn't even speaking in a whisper, Alfred still managed to hear him and gave a small nod, knowing it could be seen.

A minute or two passed in complete, tense silence, neither daring to make a move or sound. A shaky, whispery laugh eventually came from Alfred, who remained in a standing position but seemed to relax somewhat. "How much d'you want to bet that we just had a heart attack over some stray or something? I mean, this kind of situation only happens in the movies."

Right as the last word left his mouth, a blinding red light tore through the protective shadows that the garage offered, lighting up every particle of dust in a harsh, unnatural way. The two froze, staring up the sloping garage floor at the all-too-familiar steel of government vehicles, atop of which were the hideously bright strobe lights. One row of uniform-clad soldiers stood in front, their viRusgun guns at the ready, looking unholy in the dancing red.

"Attention, attention! Code 45-A has been breached! Two civilians in a restricted area, I repeat, two civilians in a restricted area!"

"Shit!" The rest of the formal arrest speech was lost as the two simultaneously rose, legging it for all they were worth towards the end of the garage that was still cloaked in shadows. A warning shot was fired, the electricity from the taser sending a metallic ring through the enclosed space as the charged prongs crashed into a wrench cart and spiraled off into the dark.

"Back alley, 5-A, NOW." Arthur called towards his partner, hurtling himself over a rusting charging post as Alfred slid under the rusted, disassembled chassis of an old green Jeep. Though Alfred confused the small sprawling alleys at times, he knew _that _one by heart, and yelled an okay before slipping through the mold-dampened crack that left a good three-foot gap between the floor and the back door of the garage. Thank god they both knew every little escape route their side of town had to offer.

It became obvious pretty quickly that the enforcement team following them wasn't one of the notorious ones; within a minute the two bartenders had managed to put a good building of distance between themselves and their pursuers, though the lights from the van still glowed in the near distance like an unpleasant warning, and they had started up the sirens as well. The soft drone sounded more like the deep rusty throat of an unused foghorn rather than the shrill pierce that might be expected. It bounced off of the small alley walls, calling with a melancholic ring after the escaping bartenders.

"I am so glad that wasn't my car," Arthur puffed out, arms and legs still pumping at a speed that almost no one outside of Alfred would expect from him. He winced, patting at his face in an attempt to soothe the wind burn that he was already getting. "Identification would have been an absolute bastard."

Managing a laugh of agreement, the taller eventually slowed long enough to glance around, gain his bearings, and take off in a slightly different direction with Arthur following immediately behind them.

There were plenty of abandoned buildings to choose from in the area that they were in, which was part of the reason that they had chosen to put their headquarters nearby. The only people who could get around easily were the people who knew their way around the back streets, and for all the hype the STOP soldiers got, they could hardly be called street-savvy at all.

Memory served him well, and just as Alfred had expected, a small, worn-out warehouse for an old furniture company lay just ahead. Picking up speed despite the fact that he was certain they were in a fairly safe zone, he practically flew through the gaping window frame, Arthur tumbling in ungracefully after him. The two lay there in silence for a moment, the only sound in the building being the twittering of a pair of birds roosting in the spotted, decaying ceiling and their own erratic breathing.

"That…" Pausing to catch his breath, Arthur sat upright and clapped his hand to the side of his head. "I'm not sure whether to laugh or scream. You have absolutely shit luck."

"Me?" Alfred sat up as well, looking mock-indignant for a second before dissolving into nervous laughter. "I do, don't I." "Obviously. That kind of thing only happens in those ridiculous Western films you love so much."

Another small nervous laugh emitted from the younger of the two, before silence took over for the umpteenth time that night. There were no footsteps there, at least; silence was definitely preferred if the alternative was a van of lunatics with tasers and biochemical weaponry. But no place was safe forever, and especially not at night. Eventually Alfred moved from sitting to standing, brushing the muck and bits of old plaster and cotton fiber strands from his pants. "It'll be better for the both of us if we go back to our places separately." A nod of agreement was given as Arthur pushed himself up as well, pausing for a moment to peer through the grimy, film-covered window of the store. Only a yawning stretch of darkness met him.

"Now, then, while everything's clear." He glanced over towards his younger accomplice after having said that, looking conflicted for a moment before adding on: "Give me a call when you get back to your place, okay?" The request was met with a small but sincere smile. It was reassuring, these displays of worry. It almost, _almost, _made things seem the way they were before. "Yeah. You too, if you get there first."

One last glance out the window, and the warehouse was empty yet again, Alfred heading towards the East end of town where his house waited for him, and Arthur heading towards the West, where his apartment complex was located.

But life was never easy and Alfred's miserable, miserable luck clung to Arthur like an unwanted security blanket. He had already wound his way through half of the back alleys that would take him to the one leading to his complex when he realised something was amiss.

Slowing his pace to a jog, he looked towards the twinkling, smooth-black sky while he tried to work out what was wrong. He had his proper car keys, he had his ID, he had remembered to lock the bar door. And then his gaze dropped to his two hands.

His two very empty hands.

"Oh _bloody hell!_ The blueprints!" Kicking the nearest garbage bin in a show of frustration, the Brit pushed himself off of it and spun around to head right back in the direction he had been coming from with a frustrated yell.

"Stupid absent-minded git, leaving important papers in a rat trap like that." Muttering the entire way down, he could only be grateful that he had decided to learn parkour at the insistence of Alfred many years ago. Being able to scale those dumpsters and rubbish bins nearly shaved his return time in half, and for that he was extremely grateful. He needed to take as little as time as possible, since his breath had already begun to rise from his mouth in small wisps, curling around his head before dissipating into the night air. It was getting a little too late for even him to be comfortable with, and staying out in the cold was never a good thing.

"Just round this corner to go, and then-" Quick reflexes kicking in before his brain could, he skidded to a stop and nearly flew back a few feet. "…You have _got_ to be kidding me."

As cautiously as possible, he peered around the corner of the brick-edged alley opening, staring out at the familiar outline of that damned warehouse – where the patrol van was currently parked. The gleaming red lights flashed off of innumerable masks and guns. Nobody had gone inside, by the looks of things, but the entire perimeter was entirely surrounded.

"Again, something you would _only _see in a movie." Pressing both hands against his face, he spun on his heel and slumped against the wall, sliding down despite the resistance his thick wool jacket made against the rough brick. "This night could not possibly get any worse."

His wry laugh never made it from his mouth, stifled instead by the hand he hadn't noticed reaching for him from behind.

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a/n: aughhh sorry about the super late chapter, guys. School has been killing me and on top of that I've had the most massive …everything block. I figured it'd be best to just try and wait out the worst of it than to rush through it and bring you all a sub-par chapter, so thank you for bearing with me!


	4. Fake Tales of San Francisco

Chapter 4 – Fake Tales of San Francisco

Fully intending to struggle for his life, Arthur reached around to deliver a swift blow to the stranger behind him. However, he wasn't exactly known for his amazing coordination or physical prowess and, luckily for his captor, he wound up swinging just a _little _too far to the left and toppling over into a trashcan nearby as a result.

"You are worst captive ever, aru!"

The harsh-sounding whisper caused Arthur's eyes to widen in surprise, but Yao's hand remained firmly clamped over his mouth in order to keep any noise from leaking out. That didn't stop his aggravated squirming, however, which only drew another exasperated sigh from the Chinese man.

"You are wondering why I have had to sneak up on you, yes?" He took the pause in squirming as a 'yes'. "Noisy Arthur would have given our position away otherwise."

…Well. It wasn't like he could contest that, seeing as he still made a fair amount of noise even _without _the use of his voice.

"You be quiet now, yes?" A nod, and Yao let his hand slip away. Arthur tilted his head back to get a better view of his strange companion, who was staring out towards the building as well. "What are you even doing out here at this hour?"

Returning the stare evenly, the slender man gave a somewhat lopsided shrug. "Business."

As close as Arthur, Alfred and (god forbid) Francis were, Yao and Ivan had always floated on the outer rim of their miniature organisation. Plans were shared between the five, yes, and they had some semblance of a trust system between them, but generally speaking the latter two kept between themselves and the former three did the same.

It was because of this silent divide that just the barest hints of suspicion were able to root themselves beneath the trust – something that rarely showed in day-to-day life but presented itself all too clearly when things like _this _happened. Who the hell snuck around in the early morning hours?

Outside of himself.

And Alfred.

Maybe he had less of a point than he originally thought, but that didn't keep the suspicion from passing over his face before being replaced with a forced neutrality. Now wasn't the time to get into things like that.

"Right then, does this _business_ of yours require getting past those militant buffoons? Because I have a bit of business there myself."

A curt nod, and with a flourish of his hand Yao indicated a grate just to their left. "Sitting on answer, aru. Very poor recon skills!"

Biting his tongue against the insults for the time being, Arthur reached over and flipped the metal up, finding it surprisingly easy to move despite the thickness of the bars. "Pf… You've used this before, haven't you?" As if the missing anchor bolts weren't enough of a dead giveaway.

Instead of answering, Yao slipped through the opening, vanishing into the dank underground with a soft thud of boot on pavement. With a sigh, Arthur followed suit. He could only pray that Yao knew what the hell he was doing, and that those lights flashing ominously overhead would _stay _overhead.

--

Karl's hand rose to his brow, shielding his squinting eyes from the painful rays of light from above. He loved the warm weather as much as anyone else, really, but going from an overcast chill to a breezy brightness was jarring for anyone. He wished he had the mind to bring his sunglasses with him.

"Not that they would allow that," he muttered, shoe scuffing against the gum-spattered pavement under foot.

The Solidite schools that he hated so much were way too stifling. The government knew that rebellion started through the freedom of expression, and thusly did everything in its vast amount of power to squelch any of that sort of thing underfoot at an early age. Ever since he could remember, street clothing had been forbidden within the school grounds. There was a strict dress code to follow and anybody who broke it was dealt swift and harsh punishment; everything from detention to suspension (which always seemed like more of a blessing than a punishment to him) to phone calls home.

At one point, he had even heard rumors of a special place that repeat offenders went to. Taken from the detention centre by those militant vans, brought back later with a new respect for the dress code.

He paused in his steps momentarily before letting his feet begin to carry him again, mind far away. Those vans.

Everyone knew about the vans that patrolled the streets, and everyone had heard about the occasional disappearances, but nobody talked about it more than they had to. The thought alone sent a shiver down his spine. As much as he talked about small rebellions and not going to school, there was a deep fear ingrained in him, much like many other citizens. To know that your government had the ability to wipe you off the map was a somber thought.

To know that your government had the ability to wipe _your parents _off the map…

Another pause in his walking as he raised his arm, pressing it against his eyes to keep the sun out and keep the sudden stinging sensation at bay. Strange. He figured he had gotten over this.

Falling back on the breathing exercises his old psychologist had taught him, he concentrated on the pull and push of air through his lungs and on the even thump-thump of his feet against the pavement, trying for all his worth to keep himself going in as much of a straight line as he possibly could without running into anything.

Thankfully he couldn't feel the onset of any panic attacks this time, and he would have sighed in relief if his concentration on breath movement had been less.

"--Ah, mon ami!"

Choking on his inhale, the boy was jolted back into awareness. His gaze tore away from the even pavement underfoot, searching for the source of the voice. Before he could actually pinpoint who was talking, however, he realised one thing was very off.

He had absolutely no idea where the hell he was.

"Uh…" Glancing down at the tarnished silver wristwatch his father had given him, his eyes went wide. Had he really been wandering for over an hour? Oh man, Remy was going to kill him. What little civilian police force remained would have to scrape him off of the wall by the time his older brother was done with him. And after he had actually promised to go to school! This time he had _meant _it. Sort of.

"Shall I repeat the question, mon ami? You seem quite lost," the stranger stated (again, apparently), taking a tentative step forward and interrupting the silver-headed boy from his internal monologue for a second time.

"Huh?" Lost? Yeah. Yeah, he was. But would it be all right to mention that? He gave the stranger a once-over, taking up a stance that screamed he was ready to run, kick and pull out the pepper spray if he needed to. "I might be."

He mentally facepalmed at the tone he accidentally used; he was trying to go for a mysterious, flippant sort of thing, but instead wound up sounding like a brain addled middle schooler. 'Real smooth, Karl. Real smooth.' Thankfully, the elder male seemed to pay no mind and clapped a hand on his shoulder in an overly-friendly manner, causing the other to jump a bit and wonder how he had managed to close the space between them so quickly.

"It is not a good thing to be lost in this sort of area. You wouldn't want to run into anything dangerous, non?" Despite the overly-friendly mannerisms and almost-too-big grin, Karl found himself nodding the faintest bit in agreement. Something told him he wouldn't have to worry about a physical attack from his man. Molestation, maybe, but not an attack.

"If you could just show me back to the main road, then. I'm going to be marked absent and Remy—" He paused mid-sentence, taking another breath of air in. It was just the barest hint that he had caught while talking, but it was there nonetheless.

"Alcohol."

Most people would have shot a paranoid glance over their shoulder, speaking a word like that in public. He half expected to have a hand slapped over his mouth or something of that sort, but the strange man simply rubbed his stubbled chin, smile wide as ever. "Château Lafite Rothschild, directly imported!" An overdramatic sigh followed soon after. "A shame we only have one bottle per month. Mon dieu, what I wouldn't give for some decent wine!"

This should have been enough to send him running. It should have pinged all of the little warning flags that his terrible school had spent so many years drilling into his brain. But instead, he could feel a matching smile start to grow on his face as well.

He had been looking for rebellion, and rebellion had found him instead.

Noticing the smile, Francis arched a brow. "Something amusing?" He was answered with a shrug, and though the smile had faded it was still somewhat visible. "…Yeah, something like that."

There was the briefest of pauses for debates on both ends before Karl spoke up again, deciding it was high time he grab life by the horns. Definitely not because Remy had already gotten a head start or something like that. That wasn't the reason at all.

"Hey—" "Would you like to come back to the shop with me?" Karl blinked, a bit startled by being interrupted yet again (this strange man seemed to have a penchant for doing that). "To the shop?" He received a nod in response, and the man swept his arm out in a grandiose gesture towards the winding sideroads and alleys that stretched out before them in lieu of the sidewalk they were currently standing on. "I have a very good intuition! It is because of my glorious judgment skills that our team has been able to come so far, and you," he paused, pressing a finger against Karl's shoulder, "-seem to be the perfect candidate!"

The smile that had flitted away returned briefly, and without any hesitation at all he gave a nod of agreement. He had no idea what the hell was going on and if Remy found out he was tagging along with shady strangers in back alleys he would probably be doubly-killed, but he could feel in his bones that this was something big. Something _really big_, and something he definitely wanted to be a part of.

"Good, good! _Allez_,_ viens_! Let us move then. It is unwise to loiter in this area."

--

"If little Alfred does not stop pacing, is going to sand floorboards away."

The bartender in question stopped in his tracks before absent-mindedly staring behind him. Sure enough, the rough floor was surprisingly smooth in the area he had been repeatedly treading over since the bar opened at eight in the morning.

A frustrated sigh followed, and though he wanted to keep moving he reluctantly hopped onto one of the stools behind the counter. "I can't help it, damnit." Raising a hand, he ruffled his hair in an irritated fashion before fixing his glasses out of nervous habit. The building itself was empty save himself, Ivan and a regular customer sitting in the corner to enjoy a sopping greasy bar breakfast, which was about the only saving grace that the morning had to offer.

First of all, Alfred was running on absolutely no sleep. No matter how many times he had called Arthur's house and cell phone, nobody picked up. He had maintained a phone vigil throughout the night and still no familiar number, though he had nearly jumped out of his skin when his landlord called in the early morning to remind him of rent.

And then? Then the most heinously annoying member of their little team had to be the very first person to show up, demanding his morning vodka and not seeming ruffled in the least when a very distraught Alfred had explained their MIA co-worker. 'Is going to be fine, da? Little comrade has head filled with hot air, could not be hurt by enemy if they tried!'

For some reason, that was less reassuring than Ivan had made it out to sound.

"Look, just because you can sit here and not worry about Yao at all doesn't mean I can't not worry about Arthur. Have you ever _seen _him attempt anything even remotely secretive?" Going by the snicker that echoed from the vodka mug, he was going to assume that was a yes and slapped a hand over his forehead. "Damnit… I knew we shouldn't have split up."

For the second day in a row, the door was thrown back with vigor and another rain of paper and posters joined the scatter that nobody had picked up off of the floor. Alfred jolted upright, anxiety clear on his face before he realised who it was.

"Could you open the door like a normal human being?"

"Non! I cannot be expected to deprive any audience of the full energy of my entrance!" The blonde flounced into the shop and it was then that the two seated at the counter realised he wasn't alone. "Francis! What have I said about hitting on minors?"

Deadpanning at the statement, Karl's gaze rose to the man who had led him to this strange underground place. He'd been right about that, then.

"You are mistaken, ma cher! Today was a day for recruiting, not for amour!" Though that never entirely took a back seat for him, and he was already planning a second excursion out on the town.

Before he could so much as open his mouth to introduce himself, he was pulled forward by the elbow and deposited neatly in front of the bar counter, where the flamboyant recruiter settled himself on one of the barstools. "Sit, sit! We have much to discuss—" "Karl." Finishing the sentence and introducing himself all in one go, he set himself carefully on the edge of another stool, gaze rising momentarily to the rows of glass bottles lined up behind the counter. The thrill of doing something so blatantly against the rules sent a trill of energy shooting down his spine – way more than enough to counteract the worry in the pit of his stomach.

Mistaking the stare as something else, Alfred patted the counter and shook his head a bit. "Sorry kid, you're way too young for any actual drinking." Pulling himself into a straighter posture, Karl huffed indignantly. "I'm not that young. And I'm not here for drinking anyway." Truth be told, he thought the stuff smelt absolutely rotten and didn't even want to imagine how that sort of thing might taste.

The man who had guided him there, Francis, shrugged in reply before reaching out to snag a bottle that the bespectacled bartender had purposely left out on the counter, whilst ignoring the 'we need to talk about this kid w_hat the hell were you thinking_' look that Alfred was sending him. "Suit yourself." He paused after uncorking the top to reach over and nab a wine glass, only then noticing that their ranks were a bit low that morning.

He wordlessly passed the bartender a questioning stare, worry momentarily creasing his brow when the other blonde glanced away. His gaze then drifted to Ivan, who simply shrugged, that constant smile still slapped on his face before it was obscured by the mouth of his jug again.

There was a moment or two of awkward silence in which Karl shifted awkwardly in his seat (angling away from Francis) and two of the remaining three stared wordlessly at the empty bar seats. "…You don't think…"

"Nah."

"He is not the best for quiet escapes."

"He's _fine_."

Sighing, the Frenchman shrugged and poured himself a glass, swirling the potent liquid around before taking a sip. Really, Alfred had too much faith in his ex. Way too much. Before he could actually voice that, a massive crash resounded from the back room, followed by a rather loud 'AIYAAA' and equally loud 'BLOODY HELL'. In about as many seconds, Alfred had thrown his bar towel at Ivan's face in his mad dash to get to the source of the sound.

There in the back of the shop was a rather massive pile of empty recycle bins, bottle caps, and a rather disgruntled and dirty-looking pair of government fighters. "If I had known this led here I wouldn't have stacked the bloody bins over it," Arthur growled, rubbing a grimy hand against his equally dirt-covered forehead as Yao attempting to extract himself from the pile of rubbish as gracefully as he possibly could.

"You--!" Reaching forward as though to help the shorter male up, Alfred switched the outstretched palm to a balled fist at the last minute and gave the Englishman a sound bat upside the head, earning himself a scowl and a punch to the knee in response. Instead of flinching, he simply slapped a palm over his face, trying to even his breathing. "Next time, we leave together. Got it?"

Huffing and pushing himself upright, the shorter of the two waved a hand. "Sod off, would you? I made it back." Suddenly the irritation melted away from his face, leaving a somewhat devious smile in its place. "Not only did I make it back, but I made it back with _this," _he extracted the paper from his pocket, placing it back in Arthur's hands. "And _this_." His hand dipped back into his pocket again, this time withdrawing a small bit of laminated plastic.

A collective "…" occurred between the group, including Karl who had been lurking at the edge the entire mini-reunion.

"…Are you serious? Are they really that inattentive?"

Arthur flipped the Solidite ID card around in his fingers, watching with a smile as the overhead light reflected off of the plastic. "Apparently so. Either that or I'm just amazingly lucky." He ignored Yao's eye-rolling, holding the card overhead as Alfred reached over to snatch it.

An increasing interest stirred within the outsider, his gaze fixed on the frowning face on the card. These people… He had figured they would be all talk, one of those 'rebel groups' that he saw in school. But they actually had a plan. They actually had something solid enough to get through all of those closed doors, both metaphorically and now literally. A small smile grew on his face.

He would make Remy proud.

--

A/n: I'm really sorry for the lateness AGAIN. Of course my schedule would start picking up when I'm trying to write. Thanks again for bearing with me, reading and reviewing!


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